


The Frost in Yalta

by BookSongs



Series: Rusame Holiday Event [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Emotional Hurt, February 1945, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Yalta Conference, complicated family relations, dozens of historical references, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8749411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookSongs/pseuds/BookSongs
Summary: The airfield was swept clean of every snowflake.Everywhere Russian guards stood only a mere twenty feet apart, tommy guns visible.While knowing it to be disrespectful America left the plane before Roosevelt was lowered by the plane's elevator to the ground.Searching the crowd for the familiar tall man and his beige scarf, America spotted Molotov and Harriman. Some others presumably Russians stood next to them and although America was sure he had seen some of them before, he could not think of any of their names.But the pearl white shock of hair was nowhere to be seen.





	

America shifted in the armchair he currently sat in feeling a fierce stare directed at him. Roosevelt for his part half sat, half leaned on the couch in the small cabin, facing the nation. He waited patiently for America to speak up, seeing the obvious discomfort the man was in. Instead of facing his president America deliberately chose to eye the picture hanging above said president, a painting of a clipper ship, placed there to please Roosevelt and his passion for all things marine. America himself had chosen it, although not expecting himself to ever glue his eyes to it only to avoid the piercing stare of the other.

The Scared Crow, a remodeled Douglas C-54, had just taken off on its way to Saki, the nearest airfield to Yalta where the meeting would take place.

America knew what his president wanted to address. Indeed FDR had already asked him when they still had been in the states. But not knowing what to answer without betraying himself, America had instead excused himself from the map room before giving in the urge to talk about his worries. He had known it to be disrespectful - and of course unfair, as the president could not follow him - to leave his president like this but he also knew about Roosevelt's talents. The man was a brilliant and charismatic speaker, to America he was more persuasive than all those who came before him. He knew exactly what strings to pull to get his nation to talk, even about those things America had sworn never to reveal to anyone. Demanding the nation to follow him into the small cabin, America had known what his president wanted to “chat” about.

 

“Alfred I know you are worried about something. And I fear I also know what it is that troubles you this much but I'd prefer it if you'd express your concerns and not try to hide them away. I am your president as much as I am the president of every US citizen.”

 

America could feel the heat in his cheeks, while they turned a dark shade of red. Slowly he lowered his gaze from the painting, looking directly into the eyes of his president.

 

“You know that I am not going to Yalta without my personal concerns neither. Winston and Stalin are barely getting along well enough to negotiate anything with the other. I know that of course you are in a way personally involved in this that none of us is.”

 

Roosevelt paused shortly not letting go of America's eyes.

 

“But I know that you three have been negotiating treaties, compensations and trade deals since decades. I am aware that it's been a while since you have seen Russia but I have no doubt that you will be able to persuade him and England to accept the conditions concerning the UN and the war. Creating an organisation to guarantee permanent peace and end the war is the top priority. I do not like telling you but you will have to keep your personal feelings at bay.”

 

“I...I know Sir President.”

 

“Alfred, you know that peace must come first.”

 

“Yes Sir President.”

 

“You will be given the appropriate time to sort out your personal discrepancies as soon as possible.”

 

“I appreciate it Sir President.”

 

“There's no need to stick to all these formalities when you're not addressing me in public Alfred. If you want to say something then just proceed. I will gladly listen to you. Possibly we can find a way to ease the situation for you.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Roosevelt offered America a small yet genuine smile. Feeling as if he hadn't slept for weeks, America lifted himself from the armchair and walked over to the couch to sit next to Roosevelt. Without asking for permission as he usually did being afraid to hurt the already weakened leader, America slung his arms around Roosevelt, clinging to him like a child would to his mother. Roosevelt began patting the nations back.

 

“I know England and Russia both mean a lot to you but I have to ask you to put policy and diplomacy first Alfred. But I give you my word that everything will be easier when all of this is over.”

 

America trembled and a strangled sound escaped his lips.

It wasn't the first time FDR saw him cry. He had witnessed him in this vulnerable state before. The first time had been after the establishment of diplomatic relations between the Soviet Union and the United States.

America had returned to the White House after his trip alongside the American diplomats looking haunted. For days he would not say a word and when asking those he accompanied to Moscow, they told Roosevelt what he had feared already, that silence had prevailed ever since America talked to Russia.

The affection the nation held for the other was obvious for everyone to see back then after FDR had announced the diplomatic mission and before America flew there. America had grinned like cheshire cat, running through the halls of the White House although Roosevelt told him over and over again to be cautious and patient, to wait before he would be disappointed if his hopes were not met. But seemingly nothing could stop the young nation (for nation standards) from showing his joy to each and every staffer of the White House.

Only when Roosevelt had asked him about Russia directly the American broke.

There were no words needed to ensure the president in his thought that the uneasiness of his nation, indeed lay in the uncertainty over the future and how it would affect him and the two nations he held so dear, though in different ways.

 

***  
  
The airfield was swept clean of every snowflake. Everywhere Russian guards stood only a mere twenty feet apart, tommy guns visible. While knowing it to be yet again disrespectful America had left the plane before Roosevelt was lowered by the plane's elevator to the ground.

Searching the crowd for the familiar tall man and his beige scarf he seemed to never take off, America spotted Molotov and Harriman. Some others presumably Russians stood next to them and although America was sure he had seen some of them before, he could not think of any of their names. But the pearl white shock of hair was nowhere to be seen.

America sighed in what was relief and disappointment at the same time. Turning to face the plane again and ignoring the looks he received from the Soviet guards all around him, he spotted England's plane in the distance.

Well at least he would not have to face him and Russia at the same time.

 

Months ago Roosevelt had granted America permission to travel to India secretly. That was less because America didn't believe the reports that the White House received but rather because he had wanted to talk India himself. The president had offered to Churchill that food may be send to rescue the starving population. Before the British had answered America had already arrived, finding India in a horrible shape, assuring him to provide support as soon as possible.

But it had not been possible at all.

Churchill and the Crown had refused the offer.

When asking for permission to speak to several prisoners, including a man named Ghandi, yet again the Americans and Alfred himself had been declined their inquiry.

It had frustrated America to an extent he did not know was still possible at this point in the war. He had cabled England again and again but always getting lies or modified truths in return, while reports from the few American diplomats kept on coming whenever they were allowed to enter the country.

America of course knew about Stalin's brutal regime, his purges, the labour camps and fake trials. And had it not been for Russia he would have probably begged his leader to cut off relations with such a regime, albeit mostly because of the communist ideology.

England had called him pretentious back then, glared at him and told him to take care about his own country and the American's willingness to cooperate with other countries like Germany, Japan and Italy even if it was only for trade. That had been before the war. Arthur had told him nothing mattered more than personal interest. He, representing the whole British empire, would personally tolerate Germany as long as he sticked to the rules.

Later England had called him out on internment when America had raised concerns about India for the first time. That must have been in 1943 when America recalls it correctly. America had refused to speak to him for one whole month despite the war raging on in Europe and the Pacific.

If he had not known it before, he now knew that idealists had no place amongst nations. Only the strongest would survive.

If they would be able to create a peaceful world, he'd be happy to do everything in his realm of possibilities to ensure such peace, but from now on, the end justified the means. If peace could only be achieved by a final war then so be it.

America had stopped asking about India or Poland whenever it was avoidable.

He knew the others viewed him as just another nation. To them he was just like the rest of Europe. Even to Russia it seemed, he had become nothing but an imperalistic, capitalist nation.

Truly America only wanted to follow his president's lead. Establishing peace and securing it.

Or so he thought, not knowing how much he had begun to resemble European empires and how Roosevelt seemed to be one of the last things holding him back now.

 

Meeting his brother again, had not been the main reason for America's concern. It had been in the early days of the war, when England did nothing but pressure him to join it. But now it was no longer. He swallowed the remarks about India as well as any other colony that came to his mind while his brother and his prime minister got off their plane.

America just as Roosevelt was a lot more troubled by the idea of having to negotiate with and between England and Russia. And of course there was the private matter of the aching feeling in his chest that had accompanied him for decades now concerning said Russian.

 

“Good Lord Alfred, Roosevelt looks anything but good. Do you think he will even be able to properly confront the Russians?”

 

America could just stop himself from sighing in frustration at the greeting. He had hoped England would put other things first. But of course it was about this again.

 

“I would have appreciated a simple Hello too, you know?”

 

“Good afternoon Alfred, forbid me my lack of manners but it was quite shocking for me to see your leader in such state. I am worried.”

 

“Roosevelt may not be in the good physical condition but I assure you he is in full possession of his other skills. There is no need to worry that he will be easy on Stalin.”

 

England eyed America suspicously for a moment.

 

“I will trust your judgement...”

 

For a second England seemed to take America's words into consideration, shortly glancing back at Roosevelt and Churchill greeting each other before the American was lifted into a waiting Packard.

 

“For now.”

 

***  
  
In the end the two had parted quickly, only talking a bit about current battles quietly while a Russian brass band played music, to make their way to the designated places they were supposed to stay at.

The Packard moved painfully slowly. Two inches of snow lay on the ground, making the road sloppy underfoot. If one could call the ground underneath road that was. Few sections of it were paved instead most of it was rough and muddy, destroyed by the war; the capture and recapture of the city as well as the retreat of the Germans and the arrival of the Russians could have not been more visible.

Looking out of the window America spotted the caravan of Red Army soldiers guiding and shielding the car. Most of them were young women armed with Springfield rifles. America knew that unlike his own army in the Red Army there was an impressive amount of women fighting on the front or serving as guards. Woodie Guthrie had even written a song for one of Russia's female snipers “Miss Pavlichenko”. America remembered seeing her shortly when she was in the states for a short time.

But what caught America's attention weren't the female snipers to his left or right bur rather the ruins of war surrounding them.

He had rarely seen the eastern front, had only heard about it being a lot worse than any other, of course when he came to Moscow he could see some of it, but this was different. Moscow had barely seen any direct damage _within_ the city. But this time Russia or rather Stalin had invited them into a city branded by the war: Burned-out tanks, gutted houses, damaged rail equipment. A countryside as bleak as the soul in despair.

And with every minute passing America felt worse for Russia, as his chest tightened with worry.

 

***  
  
America had bugged Roosevelt over and over again asking where they would stay not being sure that a place like this could be safe for him let alone his leader. Of course he was careful not to voice his concerns about the other. He knew Roosevelt put an inhuman amount of strength into his daily duties and routines regardless of any physical needs and pains. Roosevelt had just assured him, Stalin would have picked something appropriate.

America wondered how anything in this place could be “appropriate” but he would have never dreamed of their final location.

Baffled he stood in front of a palace. Just like the old ones he knew from Russia's time as an empire. He had not been sure about the state of the building they were supposed to stay at, whether it would have a roof or not, whether it would be habitable or more of a ruin, but he would have never expected a palace. Between all the ruins, burned ground and abondaned weaponry the castle looked completely out of place.

Yet again ignoring any protocol America stormed into the palace. To his left two young men, two Romanian prisoners of war as he would later learn from Roosevelt, were just fixing and polishing a doorknob. America raised his voice, wanting them to ask what they were doing here, when suddendly a firm hand squeezed his shoulder.

Turning in a swift and swirling motion America found himself eyeing Russia.  
  
After seeing the city America had expected his worst nightmares to become true and to meet a Russian looking even worse than in Tehran, hardly being able to walk or talk. Instead he now faced the Russian giving him a genuine smile.

“RUSSIA? - What are you doing here?”

 

“Shh, not too loud Amerika. I'm just hear to oversee some last er works so that everything will be in its best shape to accomodate you and your leader. And of course to show you around, da?”

 

“I...Uhm I really didn't expected that. Don't think I need someone to show me my room.”

 

“But we can spend some time together. Sounds better?”

 

Russia beamed at America having positioned himself in a way which blocked the Americans view on the two workers. America probably would have said something, asking about the two or whether there were more, had his heart not drummed against his chest uncontrollably. He had not seen Russia since Tehran, the Russian had stopped accompanying Molotov and other diplomats to Washington D.C. instead spending even more time on the front than before. Yes, they had exchanged cables, at critical times even on a daily base, ignoring the advice not to do so to prevent classified information from being intercepted by the Germans. But cables had not and would never be the same for America as seeing the Russian in person.

In Tehran Russia had looked a lot worse than he did now. His face covered with little scratches and blue marks. His cheekbones had stood out, clearly visible to America even without his glasses. He had looked hollow, a ghost of himself, only his irises had burned like fire, showing the pride after winning in Stalingrad and the turning tide of the war on the eastern front.  
Now his face looked decent again, it was still small compared to 1939 but looked healthy in comparison to 1943. And Russia's mood had definitely not been this light.

Without a second thought America pulled Russia into a tight embrace, paying no attention to the sounds at the door signalising him that Roosevelt was wheeled up a ramp.  
He had missed the Russian so dearly. And for a moment he felt at peace as if the hug had been all that he needed to soothe his nerves.

The other stiffened under his touch, pushing him away slightly to signalise him to let go.

 

“America, not here. Not now. We can talk when I show you around.”

 

Whispered Russia into his hear before completely pulling away. America would have been disappointed but all he could feel was the hot breath against his ear, that left as sudden as it came.

And while America's brain tried to catch up on the situation again, still focussed solemnly on the taller man, Russia turned on his heel now standing next to America facing the entrance.

 

“Здравствуйте President Roosevelt”

 

Greeted Russia the man in his wheelchair, ignoring the people next to and behind him.

 

***  
  
While Roosevelt had clearly not been happy with the idea of letting his nation alone with the other, he agreed reluctantly to let Russia show America around, while he himself was wheeled to his rooms. Not without warning America not to talk about anything political considering how this could not only affect the nation but also anger Churchill if England would find out about it.

And so Russia currently dragged America from one room to the next, talking about Tsar Nicholas II who had put thirteen thousand workers to work on this summer palace in April 1910 until Livadia palace was finished in September 1911. Roosevelt and America were given a suite of rooms on the ground floor, the rooms that, as Russia explained, Nicholas and his son, Alexei, had used. Every room they stepped into filled America with astonishment. Not because he had never seen places like this before but rather because he had not expected such a fairy tale alike place to be still in existence in the midst of a war torn city. Not to mention his heart carving into his chest, as if to break his ribs, whenever he met the eyes of the Russian sparkling with a joy America long thought forgotten.

Walnut ceilings, red velvet and oriental rugs greeted the two while Russia kept on explaining things the American barely heard, being focussed on the rooms and Russia himself rather than his words. Everything reminded America of old times, when Russia had showed him around in his other palaces. He had been so much younger and their relationship so much easier.  
America had met Russia's tsar and tsarina. Russia had taught him some rather simple classical dances in the pompous ballrooms. He had marvelled at all the magnificent figures, sculptures and potraits embellishing the hallways and private rooms.  
He had always loved having a democracy and no longer a monarchy, but that had not meant that he did not liked the beautiful adornments that greeted him at Russia's place.

Russia began talking about the place where England would stay, Vorontsnov Palace, and proceeded to talk about Stalin's current residence, Yusupov Palace, when he seemed to realize something. Suddendly he came to a halt and America bumped into him.

 

”Ouch, hey Russia what...“

 

Russia pressed a finger unto the American's lips signalising him to be quiet. America looked around and back to Russia.

 

”What?“

 

”How about we have a walk together outside?“

 

Just now America realized they were standing only a few feet away from the front door.

 

”Uhm isn't it like way too cold outside? I left my jacket in the car earlier on. Who knows where it is now.“

 

”But you have your bomber jacket, da?“

 

”Yeah but..“

 

”That will be enough.“, interrupted Russia.

 

America considered saying no but decided the Russian must have had his reasons. Personally he would have preferred staying inside, just following Russia around showing him even more luxurious furniture and old oil paintings.

Russia reached out and grabbed America's hand. A bit perplexed the American shot Russia a confused look, but the Russian just squeezed his hand again. It was a formerly common gesture between the two, asking him to trust him with whatever it was. And as sudden as Russia had reached out, he let go of America's hand.

America closed his jacket tightly around himself and followed the Russian, who had just opened the doors to step outside in the cold weather.

Since their arrival the temperature had fallen noticeably. A cold breeze embraced America as he stepped outside. Out of nowhere three men appeared, all dressed in long dark blue overcoats and shabby black caps. America raised an eyebrow: NKVD? Russia gave him a small nearly invisible nod.

While America turned to close the doors, he could hear Russia exchange whispers with the three men who slowly, though looking quite sour, retreated into the darkness of the night and whereever they came from.

The sky was already quite dark but the moon plunged everything into a soft light and so it was bright enough to still see the road ahead of them. The ground was covered in snow and ice. America could feel the cold creeping into his toes and fingers and hoped what Russia had to tell him wouldn't take long. The chill seeped into his bomber jacket while the snow crunched quietly underneath their feet. As soon as they had distanced themselves from the building, America reached out to entwine his fingers with Russia's, hoping to at least warm his fingers a bit but also just to feel the Russian by his side. Russia carefully returned the gesture and closed the distance between them, startling America. The two now walking shoulder pressed against shoulder.

After some minutes, which felt like an eternity, Russia came to a halt and raised his voice again. Not looking at America but straight ahead.

 

”They have bugged the whole palace. You should be careful with what you say in there.“

 

”Wait, aren't you like supposed to keep that secret. I mean espionage doesn't work that way that you tell the other you're spying on them.“

 

Not that he had not known the bugs would be there. Of course they were.

 

”Da, I know.“

 

A long silence stretched between them.

 

”You know if that's it, can we maybe go inside again?! I'm freezing.“

 

And America was. His toes felt as if they were turning into ice, he could feel his nose burning and the slight breeze that caressed his cheekbones now felt like dozens of needles piercing into his skin.

If Russia had decided to only drag him here to tell him about the bugs, he preferred not to stay any longer. He had hoped Russia would have wanted something other than that but already having resigned internally, he saw no reason to stay. What he didn't expected was that Russia might have wanted to say something else. Something America did not know of and certainly did not expected.

 

”You know why I brought you away from all of them and all of their bugs, Alfred.“

 

America let go of Russia's hand and spinned around to face the Slavic nation. His eyes were wide in shock and surprise.

He hadn't heard his human name from those lips for decades.

Even in Tehran when they had silently apologized for so many things. Although not in words, they never spoke about it, only their looks told the other about their regret. The little and rare touches they had exchanged, gave them all the assurance that still might have been needed about what they silently told each others whenever their eyes met.

In their letters to each other – they began sending cables at least twice a week after Tehran, beforehand it had been three cables a month – they spoke to each other on friendly terms again, sometimes America had even sneaked something more than platonic in them. But still it was far from the way they used to talk to each other not that either of them had expected that.

Russia had told America how happy he was that Stalin seemed to respect and accept America as an ally again. And America wrote back how happy he was about every bit of trust Stalin showed towards his President.  
Russia had told America how the Red Army won yet another battle and America wrote back how his army gained more ground week by week, reclaiming island after island, against the Japanese.

But never had either of them used their human name.

America felt his heart drumming against his ribcage yet again, he feared it was beating so loud Russia would be able to hear it.

 

”I have seen your leader. We both know that he might not be around until all of this is over.“

 

”Roosevelt is strong and I believe in him, he'll make it.“

 

Protested America half heartedly, on the one hand still being distracted by the mention of his human name, on the other he felt a familiar pull at his heart, telling him he knew better, that Russia indeed was speaking the truth. Roosevelt's physical condition had worsened over the last months. And no one would have needed a doctor to see it.

 

”Alfred, I fear that our alliance with England won't be stable enough when he's gone.“

 

”Ivan, are you suggesting to form a secret alliance between our two nations? Are you insane?! I won't betray anyone. If Stalin and Churchill can't get along without Roosevelt things will get more complicated for sure, but I won't do anything Roosevelt wouldn't do. And he has not formed a secret alliance with your leader, you know.“

 

America felt anger creeping up on him, forgetting the icy weather, his frozen fingertips and pushing the urge to touch the Russian aside. His new mistrust of everyone and everything getting the better of him.

England had asked him this too. Had asked about Operation Unthinkable. Overthrowing Stalin. It had been ridiculous. Never had America expected Russia to make similar suggestions, or at least he had told himself Russia would not do something alike.

Turned out he was wrong.

 

”No, Alfred, please listen. I'm not asking you to do that. I know you won't.“

 

”Then what is it? What do you want?“

 

Without any warning Russia pulled America close, grapping him by his shoulders. America could hear his heart ringing in his ear, pumping blood through his veins as if he had just finished a marathon, and picking up pace.

Russia slung his arms around America's back. Clinging to him just as America had to Roosevelt mere hours earlier. Had America not been intoxicated by the touch itself, now being initiated by Russia and not him like it was earlier, he probably would have felt that it was less of a loving than a fearful, frightened hug.

 

”Promise not to hate me whatever happens.“

 

Russia begged. America had never heard Russia begging for anything before. Not even during the famine in the twenties when America had brought him food, had taken care of him until he had felt better again. But his mind still seemed clouded, not giving him the chance to understand and question, but just answer as if it had been a regular question.

 

”I promise Ivan, I promise if you promise not to hate me neither.“

   
For a second America's words hung in the air, Russia struggling to answer them, before he whispered his response to the blonde.

”Da. I promise Fedya.“

 

Russia seemingly not realizing that he had just used America's pet name, didn't see the kiss coming. Taken aback Russia's thoughts ran wild while warm and soft lips pressed against his own, searching, feeling, hoping.

America had long forgotten the cold. His brain seemed to be completely out of function by now and everything he could think of was Russia. Russia's voice, the familiar accent, Russia's lips and their well known shape, curve and taste, Russia's hair pale as ever making him look like winter himself.

Slowly Russia melted into the kiss, even returning it. Lips eagerly meeting as if to make up for all the time Russia and America had been apart.

Until.

Suddendly Russia pulled back, looking like a terrified animal, his eyes wide and round. Pure shock reflected in those amethyst irises and the whole posture of the tall man appeared distraught, looking as if he was about to flee any second, nearly turning his back on the American.

 

”Vanya?“

 

Hearing the familiar name seemed to ease the Russian just enough not to run away but his eyes and heavy breathing betrayed him.  
America didn't understand anything. His mind now carried away, he did not even notice calling Russia by his pet name. Paralyzed, his heart still beating in a fast rythm and his body still wanting to reach out for the other body now no longer in his reach, and thus he just stared at Russia.

 

”Vanya, what is wrong?“

 

Acting only on instincts, America reached out to grab Russia's wrist just like he had seconds ago. Russia took a step back. Raising his other hand Russia looked as if he protected his own wrist from America, shielding it from him.

And then it dawned on America.

 

”You're hurt, aren't you?! Why haven't you told me?“

 

Russia's mouth was still closed. But slowly he seemed to regain his senses. His eyes returned to their natural size and after a few seconds, in which he seemed to fight with himself, his face grimacing, he gave America an apologetic smile. Confusion and frustration bubbled up in America's brain.

Russia was just about to turn, noticing how the American still was trapped in a seemingly frozen state, when suddenly America jumped forward and grabbed him by his shoulders. Slipping on the snowy ground, both instantly lost their balance and fell down unto the layer of snow, protecting them from crashing into hard soil.

Before Russia could lift himself up, America was above him. Pinning his arms and legs down.

 

”What is wrong Ivan?“

 

The Russian shifted clearly uncomfortably, avoiding America's determined stare. America was sure he did not apply too much pressure but Russia seemed to flinch under the touch. Easing his grip on Russia's arms, leaning only on one of his own and then raising Russia's right arm to the Russian's chest, he examined the wrist in question. He half expected the Russian to push him away now that it would be so easy. But nothing happened.

Instead America was greeted by marks and little scars, none that wouldn't heal on a nation's body, yet dozens of them. Red lines some small some long, some already older standing out in an angry red against the pale skin, some still had eschar. But the worst was a dark blue mark, even black in some areas, in the shape of a hand that stretched all around Russia's wrist.  
Normally this would have not been that unsettling, after all he knew how much time Russia spend figthing amongst his own soldiers. Those wounds were not uncommon for someone fighting in a war, hadn't it been for the odd location of them. America knew these wounds were different, not only wounds from the battlefield, those rarely seemed to bother the tall man and Russia's earlier reaction had given away already that something else or rather _someone_ else had caused those.

 

” _Stalin?_ Was that Stalin?“

 

Russia said nothing just stared into America's eyes with a mix of anger and shock.

America raised Russia's arm just a little more, his lips touching the others wrist.

Russia shifted underneath him again, but America just pressed another kiss to the dark blue mark that looked like strong and fierce fingers had left it. America hated it. He knew Stalin must have left it there. He knew Stalin was a cruel leader and definitely one who did not value lifes as much as victories. But he also knew he could not do anything. He knew he could not help Russia.

 

”I'm so sorry.“

 

America whispered against Russia's wrist, not even protesting when he was shoved off of Russia's body. Instead he sat up again, cowering in the snow, repeating it to himself like a mantra, unable to think much less act.

Russia left into the dark following a path leading even further away from the palace not saying any word. His trail vanished quickly as it began to snow.

Snowflakes landed on America's hair and nose, melting quickly upon touching the warm skin, before he finally rose from where he had sat and half walked half stumbled back to the palace.  
  
***  
  
When he entered his bedroom America did not care for any of the fine decorations and the soft pillows and silk blankets were tossed aside as he fell unto his bed. He felt as if frost of the weather and the snow had invaded his own veins, as he could not stop shivering despite the warm air in the room. His mind was numb and no single tear fell that night before he descended into a restless slumber.

 

***  
  
Russia had talked to him again, although calling him by his country name.

The negotiations had turned out not too bad. The big three settled on East Europe, a few things concerning Germany and the UN. Some cracks in the coalition had shown, but nothing that had ultimately seemed like the end of it. But while their leaders worked out agreements, one nation could not stop freezing, retreating to wear his bomber jacket all the time from now on.

On the last day America even managed to steal a hug and a kiss from Russia shortly before their depature but no one mentioned the marks and scars again. Not then nor when they met again in Lorenzkirch, in Potsdam or London.

Russia left. The creeping cold stayed.

Years later America wished he had asked Russia back then. Wished he had tried to understand the dull sensation in his chest as his heart froze and a new war began.

A war between two nations so strikingly similar in character, yet so different in their believes that they threatened to annihalte every living being from the planet turning it into a planet of ice and cold, the sun no longer being able to bathe it in its light, prohibiting the ice and frost to ever melt again.

A war that would freeze both hearts and minds

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this might be a bit out of order
> 
> Yalta Conference:  
> \- second World War II meeting of the heads of government of the United States, the United Kingdom and the Soviet Union, represented by President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Prime Minister Winston Churchill and Premier Joseph Stalin  
> \- purpose of discussing Europe's post-war reorganization  
> \- goal of conference: shape a post-war peace, give self-determination to the liberated peoples of post-Nazi Europe  
> The Yalta conference was a crucial turning point in the Cold War.
> 
> Harriman was an American politician and diplomat and served President Franklin D. Roosevelt as special envoy to Europe and served as the U.S. Ambassador to the Soviet Union and U.S. Ambassador to Britain.  
> Molotov was a Soviet politician and diplomat and served as Minister of Foreign Affairs from 1939 to 1949
> 
> Operation Unthinkable was a code name of two related plans of a conflict between the Western Allies and the Soviet Union. Both were ordered by British Prime Minister Winston Churchill in 1945 and developed by the British Armed Forces' Joint Planning Staff at the end of World War II in Europe.  
> Technically Churchill didn't tell Roosevelt about those plans bc the American was already dead but in my story the character England already knows of the developement of such plans and tells America about it. Nonetheless Churchill expressed his mistrust for the Russians again and again. So this is partially fiction partially not.
> 
> The Bengal Famine of 1943 struck the Bengal Province of British India during World War II. Approximately 3 million people died due to famine. The famine also caused major economic and social disruption, affecting millions of families. As with most other famines which struck British India, it has been claimed that the British government was largely responsible for most of the casualties.  
> Churchill really refused the offer of food because they feared that the Indians would rise up against them.  
> The English really refused American diplomats the opportunity to visit some imprisoned people including Ghandi.
> 
> So in Europe, especially in England the so called "appeasement politics" were pursued for a long time (e.g. giving "Sudetendeutschland" to Hitler) before anyone actually did anything against the Nazis. They were tolerated for a rather long period of time tbh and that goes for the US too.
> 
> 1933 under FDR official diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union were established.
> 
> The Russian famine of 1921–22, also known as Povolzhye famine, was a severe famine in Bolshevik Russia which began in early spring of 1921 and lasted through 1922. This famine killed an estimated 5 million, primarily affecting the Volga and Ural River regions. Despite not having any official diplomatic relations the US (specifically organisations including the American Relief Administration) provided relief supplies and saved millions of lifes.
> 
> The main goal of FDR throughout the war was the establishment of the UN and the "four policemen" (US, UK, USSR, China) to secure a permanent peace... So yeah that didn't worked out that well. But we still have the UN
> 
> Also technically not everything in Russia was beautiful and pompous but America, coming as a country would not be shown the poorest places if it was avoidable of course.
> 
> Russia wasn't primarly at the palace bc of America but rather bc he looked over the Romanian POW which had to work there. When the President arrived in 1945 some had still been there, doing some last fixes and this gave me a nice excuse to why Russia would be (allowed to be) there.  
> But also: I thought it to be important to have Russia ask America for this promise because he was quite aware of Stalin's ambitions and feared they would not aligne with those of Roosevelt. Which they indeed didn't. This was far from being the "final break" in relations but everyone was aware that Roosevelt's death, which at this point everyone expected, though not hoped for, would change things heavily again.
> 
> So I have recently bought the book "Roosevelt & Stalin - Portrait of a Partnership" and am currently reading it together with "My Dear Mr Stalin" (the correspondence between Stalin and Roosevelt) and it goes into even further detail about anything. I slightly changed things but overall it should be accurate to what we know about the meeting (though I spared you all from going into more detail about the food that was served when FDR arrived and more specifics about his rooms).  
> So the places are all real and the events mentioned too, only America's and Russia's role is fictional.
> 
> This drabble is part of my contribution to the Rusame Holiday Event on tumblr.  
> The prompt was "frost".  
> I'm sorry for being a day too late but I swear I buried myself in so many details I'm just glad I finished it afterall.


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